Danse Macabre
by IBrokeBad
Summary: It's 1893 and Dean is called to Transylvania to help Sam solve a vampire problem. Unfortunately, it's much more complicated than that. He finds himself faced with his most deadly opponent yet: an unpredictable vampire, broken and with little to lose. All Dean knows quickly evaporates. The dead are rising. Angel soldiers exist. A woman steals his heart. What's a hunter to do?
1. Chapter 1

**Introduction:**

_Transylvania, Winter of 1893_

The man - if he even is one - should have killed her instead of marrying her. At least that's the feeling that's lodged in his gut at the moment. It's unfortunate that he can never make up his mind. He'd certainly loved her at some point, he just needs to remember that and maybe this wife won't end up like the last one.

_Hope. That's the word I'm looking for._

"You're lucky I haven't murdered you," he says to her, deciding that she should know. Communication is key in any relationship, after all.

Right now she's lying next to him as they both face the arched, cobwebbed ceiling with their heads together and her hand over his. She turns her head to look at him, the darkness of the room shadowing her face. He can see one of her eyebrows quirk as she says, "Same to you, darling."

He exhales, raising a hand and reaching out for something invisible in the air above him, "Sometimes I just want to reach out, grab your neck, and snap it." His hand makes a violent squeezing motion.

The young woman lifts her free hand and smacks his out of the air, sending it back to his side. There is a soft thump as it hits the side of their wooden coffin. "Is it because of what I said this morning?"

He frowns, "I don't like it when you tell me what to do."

"I was far from it," she says, defensive.

"And in my own house, no less."

"It's hundreds of years old, it could use some change."

"It's been this way for hundreds of years because I like it the way it is."

"Dark, dreary, and empty?"

"Go light a candle if it bothers you so much."

"And you have no maids. You're incredibly wealthy but you have no maids. No help. Nothing."

"I apologize, I presumed you accepted my proposal based on love, not my fortune."

"There's nothing wrong with having a maid or two handy."

"Yes, there is and you know why, dammit!" he turns his face to glare at her. "What is it you want that I haven't already given you? Look at yourself! Look, at the dress on your body. I gave that to you. I gave you a home. I give you money. I give you an escape from that idiot. I give you freedom to do what you want in the mornings, and the only thing I ask in return is that you return to me at night. What more do you want?"

She just stares at the ceiling in response. He can see her eyes thinking. After a while she says with a subtle whine, "I don't know how you did it before me. It's lonely."

He watches her face, the beauty of which he had by now grown immune to. He knows she is different than most girls, that's why he'd chosen her. She's outspoken and opinionated, and most definitely isn't nice like many of the other wives that he'd had. Before she knew that he was a monster, she took pride and joy in stringing him along like all of the other suitors constantly trailing behind her. And when she'd found out what he was she was afraid at first . . . until she'd realized the rewards. Immortality, excitement, and wealth all are highly appealing to a girl like her.

"Before you I had another wife," he says. "I actually had several, though not one of them was very satisfying."

"So you killed them?"

He pauses. "They knew my secret."

"What about me? Would you let me die once you grew bored of me?"

Damon Salvatore keeps his eyes on the ceiling. "Yes. I would."

**Part One: Enter The Hunter**

**Chapter One:**

_Paris, Winter of 1893_

Dean clutches his stake firmly, eyes moving from the man standing in front of him to what Dean is much more interested in - the door he's blocking. The gap beneath that door flashes a blinding light, on and off, illuminating the dim hallway. There is a triumphant, crazed laughter coming from behind it - a sure sign that Dean needs to hurry.

The man standing in front of him is not quite a man. He is, as Dean had discovered just moments ago, a man-made man.

He'd received a case about three days ago from a Parisian woman, Halette, whose two brothers were taken and forced to work for some deranged scientist. Knowing that, Dean had originally turned the case down, thinking it a rather mediocre case for his style. But that was before Halette had informed him that both her brothers were supposedly dead and buried.

Standing in front of Dean now is one of Halette's undead brothers, Thomas. He'd already gotten rid of Halette's other undead brother upon arrival. Thomas had appeared just minutes after. To describe him as alive would be technically true, but his appearance suggests dead and nothing else. His skin is a dull grey and there is not a hint of running blood in him. No pink flush of the cheeks, no change in breath when active, and he doesn't even blink. Not that he'd need to anyway, since his eyes had proved to be very nearly blind.

Let's just say that the scientist's project hadn't been a stirring success. Until now.

Behind the blocked door is Dr. Fergus MacLeod, who refers to himself as Crowley now that he'd been exiled from the scientific community. He started as a relatively well-respected doctor and is a true genius. Dean figured that perhaps he's too intelligent for his own good because he sought more than what the world had to offer. Something beyond death.

"You're going to want to let me pass," Dean says, tapping the stake between his fingers. He doesn't know what good it'll do against a dead man, but he's eager to find out.

If Thomas understands at all, he makes no sign of it. Instead he steps forward unevenly, as if one leg functions and the other is just dead weight. This only makes it easier for Dean to predict his movements. The fact is immediately demonstrated as Thomas bends his leg as if bracing to lunge at him. His arms flail and his teeth bare.

Dean seizes one arm and yanks him out of the way. Thomas grunts, and pounces with surprising strength and accuracy atop Dean's back.

"Argh!" Thomas gurgles, locking his arms in an impressive chokehold around Dean's neck. He jerks an elbow back, nailing the creature in the stomach. Unphased, Thomas rakes his nails down Dean's coat sleeve, ripping the material to shreds. Strips of the leather slap to the ground as he claws away at him.

Really? Dean thinks to himself. This is my best coat. He aims a rough jab with his stake to Thomas' head and hears an instant screech. He tosses the surprised creature off of him and turns to see that he'd taken a good slice out of its throat instead.

Then, without hesitation, he charges and stabs the undead thing right in the chest. He pushes the stake in, feeling the decaying flesh give way beneath his fingers. With a grimace, he lets go and steps back.

The creature lets out a moaning cry of horror, and just for a moment Dean sees a flicker of awareness in his eyes before he wheezes and collapses to the ground.

Without further ado, Dean shoves through the closed door into a blinding light. Squinting, he places a hand on his Colt revolver.

"We both know that thing's useless, Hunter." Crowley's says through the light. His voice contains a crackle of excitement. "I saw you through the window. You used up all of your bullets on dear Thomas' brother outside. What was his name?" He waves a hand in dismissal, "Oh, well, he wasn't my best work anyway. Thomas was only a little better . . . but you killed him too so I suppose he wasn't all that great."

"I've still one bullet left," Dean says.

"And you're saving it for me?" he says in exaggerated flattery. "Now I feel special."

Dean raises the Colt and points it in the direction of his voice.

Then there is an abrupt thud, followed by a series of clanking noises and the light dies down.

The first thing Dean sees is an operating table. With a body on it.

Shit, Dean thinks. Not another one.

He lifts his eyes to meet Crowley, a man with medium build and bright, wild eyes whose uneven beard frames a toothy grin.

"Face to face at last, Hunter," he says, his mouth stretching further into a mischievous smile. "I'm a big fan. A true fan."

Dean keeps the Colt pointed at him, eyes shifting bracingly from him to the limp body. He notes that it's a man around his age. In that brief glance he spots the subtlest of smiles on the man's face as if he were merely asleep, having a good dream.

"A handsome one, right?" Crowley says, picking up a white rag and running it over both of his hands. The rag turns red from the blood. He looks at Dean, "You're wondering if he's alive?"

Dean moves a few steps closer, "No. I think I'll just kill you now. I've a train to catch."

"Well, then, if you did that you couldn't very well know how to deal with my newest creation," he gazes down at the unconscious body with pure awe and admiration.

"I can learn."

"Oh, but you'll be missing out!" Crowley croons joyfully. "This is it. This is the reason I'm alive- to create him! He's beautiful."

"You two can spend some alone time in hell," he clicks his gun, his finger moving to squeeze the trigger, when a loud and sharp gasp cuts through the room.

He's alive. That thing is alive.

Dean and Crowley just watch, frozen, as the creature blinks his blue eyes about the room in confusion. Then, as if suddenly aware of his nightmarish situation, he jerks to sit up, smashing his head on a low hanging oil lamp.

He lets out a cry, clutching his head. His lips protrude in a pout, almost like a child, as the lamp swings back and forth in front of him.

Startled and somewhat unsure of how to handle him, Dean moves his gun towards the creature. Crowley loudly protests as the man just turns to stare at Dean curiously.

"Who is he?" Dean asks Crowley, interrupting his shouts. "Huh? Is he-"

"Alive?" Crowley grins giddily. "Yes." He places a hand gently on the creature's shoulder and says to it, "Castiel?"

The creature turns his face away from Dean and looks at his creator.

"My God, he's magnificent," Crowley declares, not even trying to reel in his excitement.

Dean almost laughs. Magnificent? The man is buck naked on an operating table looking more puzzled than a two year old attempting collegiate arithmetic.

Finally making up his mind, Dean aims the gun at Crowley, deciding that he's too dangerous to keep alive. Unfortunately, the creature doesn't appreciate this and lunges off the table and at Dean. Crowley just looks on with pride as Dean is knocked down. He feels the hard floor meet his back with a painful thud and braces his arms in front of him, ready to block further attack.

But when Dean blinks and looks up, he finds that he is not moving. The creature just stands there looking at his own hands in surprise. His stare turns to Dean in what almost looks like guilt. Strange, inarticulate sounds rise from the thing's throat, his mouth struggling. Dean watches in astonishment as the man finally gets out, "Do not . . . kill."

Dean stands slowly and cautiously, glaring between the two men opposite him. His gun is kept low in attempt to appear non-threatening. This . . . thing seems very sensitive to threats. Crowley is practically giggling.

"He's protecting me," he says, eyes twinkling. "My dear boy."

"Or maybe he doesn't appreciate violence," Dean says. No, this creature isn't a killer. At least not yet.

"Yet he holds so much potential," Crowley says, moving around to look at his work. The creature just stands motionless with an expression of discomfort. Crowley points to one long scar that runs along his torso, "He was an interesting man before he died, you know. Quite impressive really."

"You don't have the right to do this," Dean says, stepping to the side, gun carefully kept behind him. "Dead things should stay dead."

"How very closed-minded of you."

"Well, I'm speaking from experience."

Crowley smiles, "I can't wait until you die. You'd be excellent undead. Strong."

"How flattering," Dean says, fingers twitching impatiently on his gun. Alright, I have one shot.

He swings his arm around, pointing the gun directly at Crowley's face, and fires. The creature responds with inhuman speed, shoving the doctor out of the way. The bullet enters his bare chest and Crowley is on the floor, knocked out.

Blood drips down the creation's body. A strangled sound erupts from its mouth, black brows angled together in pain. Dean falls backward and the creature's body jerks violently. The hunter's eyes widen and he tries to back away as much as possible, kicking his legs in front of him. The thing screams, his deep voice echoing agonizingly throughout the house.

He flings himself against the window in pain. The second its arms hit the glass, it shatters, the entire window in pieces. Cold air flies in.

Dean glances at Crowley, who is still passed out. He returns his gaze to the creature, whose bare back tenses, creating sharp angles where his bone meets skin. Scratches from the glass are sliced along his body

Then, without further warning, two enormous wings rip through the skin of his back and extend. Dean isn't prepared for the sight. He can do nothing but gape, in awe of the sheer greatness of it. Now Dean isn't one to stop and appreciate beauty often, but this takes him by surprise.

They resemble feathers. White and soft and clean. He watches as they stretch, brushing the high ceiling and flapping tentatively. A slight breeze washes onto Dean's face as the wings sweep past him slowly.

The creature seems to have stopped experiencing pain because his face has smoothed. Blood still covers his chest, but the wound is missing. Has it healed already?

Dean blinks, "What . . . are you?"

The creature meets his eyes. His wings stretch and for a moment Dean thinks he's going to kill him, but instead the creature bends both his knees and wings before taking flight. He floats gracefully through the open window and goes, his figure getting smaller and smaller as he gets farther and farther.

"Damn," Dean says after a few moments of shock, watching the retreating figure. "He made me miss my train."

* * *

**Note: I don't own Supernatural or Vampire Diaries! ****Also thanks so much to my supercool beta Emie16!**

**Thoughts are appreciated 3**


	2. Chapter 2

**Note: You may notice that Stefan is slightly out of character. This is because the story takes place before something happens to make him the Stefan we know and love! And thanks so, so much to Emie16 for being a wonderful beta!**

**Chapter Two**

_Transylvania_

The sun is rising.

The brown-eyed girl lets out a shaky breath as her fingers run through her dark hair. The frigid air bites her skin, and she raises her stare to her target.

He's a tall, muscled man. The girl shifts in the shadows, gaze steady. It's exactly that moment that he senses her, lifting his nose into the air and sniffing once deeply. Immediately his teeth bare and her hand tightens around her silver blade, the light of the rising sun ricocheting off of it.

Then, as it always is before an attack, the air stills as he finally spots her crouched within the alleyway.

"I can hear your heart beating," he growls, hands flexing as if to prepare to squeeze the life out of something. "You should know I'll have no difficulty killing you."

Her dark eyebrow raises slightly.

"I am hungry tonight," he continues, a deadly grin stretching across his face. His teeth are pointed and yellow, stained with all those he's murdered.

She responds only by standing up, then stepping slowly into the orange light. There is a flash of horror on the man's face the second he sees her completely, his eyes widening.

"What - how-" he stutters, backing away into the empty street. "I didn't recognize your scent." If she is at all surprised at the fear written plainly on his face she doesn't show it. Instead she uses his apparent recognition of her to her advantage.

The girl moves in closer, each step firm and deliberate. Her next words are low but threatening, "Do you know why I'm here?"

She catches the movement of his throat as he swallows, "I don't-"

"Don't lie to me, Mason." The silver knife twists between her fingers. "I don't like liars."

He clamps his mouth shut, seeming to think frantically about his next words, "I'd rather not be seen speaking with you. Your husband is a dangerous man."

At that the girl looks taken aback, "My husband?"

Fortunately, the man doesn't notice, "He has threatened me for getting too close to you. Although I am surprised to see _you_ holding a knife."

She pauses briefly, shoving her confusion aside. "I'm not here on my . . . husband's behalf."

"Then why? Just to kill me?"

"Mason," she says carefully, "Why do you think I'm here?"

"Because I was following you yesterday," Mason's gruff voice forces out. "But I swear Lady Katherine, I was not sent to kill you!"

The girl nearly flinches at the mention of the name. Once again, she collects herself before demanding, "Who sent you to tail me?"

"You mean, you don't know?"

"I wouldn't ask if I did."

He hesitates, eyebrows tilting anxiously, "I - I can't-"

"_Mason_." She lifts the knife, signaling that she's more than prepared to use it.

He huffs, "Your husband. It was your husband."

She blinks, pursing her lips, "Why are you so afraid of him?"

He scoffs. "You know why."

"Tell me. Now."

He narrows his eyes at her, possibly questioning her continued ignorance. "He's a blood-sucker. The worst kind."

_Oh, Katherine, what have you gotten yourself into?_ "But you could kill him, you're a werewolf."

He laughs dryly, "You must not know him that well. Why are you asking these questions?"

Sensing his growing suspicion, she hurries along, "Do you know what my husband's name is?"

He laughs a second time, "Are you kidding?"

"Do I look like I'm kidding?"

"You're asking for trouble. If he finds out about us talking like this, both our heads are coming off."

The brown-eyed girl sighs heavily. This is going to have to get messy. Stubborn bastard.

Without warning she lands a solid, forceful kick to his stomach, causing him to reel back in surprise. He roars angrily, the sound scratching against her ears. She rushes into him before he can regain balance. Their bodies collide with extreme resistance on his end. The girl shoves him with all the force she can muster and points her blade to his throat, making him freeze.

"You're going to kill me?" he asks, the silver sizzling as it meets his skin.

She backs him up to the brick wall behind him until he's trapped against it. "If you don't cooperate."

"I cannot," he says with frightened conviction. "I would rather die than betray him. He will find a way to hurt me beyond the grave."

The girl smiles bitterly, "Fine." She presses the knife closer, "Oh, and Mason?" she says, hand barring him to the wall. "I'm not Katherine."

The yellow of his eyes dances before her knife slashes his throat.

_Eastern Border of France_

A rhythmic thud of the train against its track beats against Dean's ear drums. The icy cold of the window numbs his cheek as he leans his face against it. Just on the other side through thin glass the country speeds past, all blurs of whites and blues, the pale light of the sun flickering behind grey clouds. Snow drifts down in soft sheets.

Slowly Dean unsticks his face from the window, a slight fog taking his place. He lifts his finger, presses it against the glass, and draws a cross.

"Are you a priest?"

Dean turns to find a young man, perhaps only slightly younger than him, stepping into the compartment. After a moment's pause, he shakes the snow out of his sandy hair and flashes Dean a wide grin. He has innocent, golden eyes that look to be in an exhaustingly good mood. He slides the door shut behind him and the latch clicks closed.

"My name is Stefan Salvatore. It is a pleasure to meet you," the young man says. He sits down, yanking his lone piece of luggage onto the seat next to him. The small bag protests loudly as several items disagree with each other inside. "Damn. I suppose that's what happens when you pack your books with your spectacles."

Dean just looks at him silently.

"So is 'Father' an appropriate title?" Salvatore asks, nodding at the now fading cross on the window.

The sides of Dean's mouth tilt downwards, "Not even if I was your father," he says flatly.

"Ah, from America as well," Stefan says, smiling. "You're accent gives you away. And if not your accent, your face. You have a very American face."

Dean doesn't reply, and instead turns back towards the window.

"What about me?" Stefan asks, then. "Can you guess where I'm from?"

Dean doesn't reply but internally curses public transportation.

Stefan moves to face him, "Can you? It might be difficult since I've ironed out my tongue for the sake of my job-"

"Italy," Dean answers without looking at him. Instead his green eyes wander back to the window as they pass through France's border and officially enter Switzerland.

"It's my name that does it, isn't it?"

"I suppose it is."

"What happened to your jacket?" He gestures to the ripped cloth.

Dean doesn't reply.

Stefan falls silent for a moment. "So you're headed to Transylvania," he says expectantly.

"Yes."

"What for?"

Dean sighs heavily, "I'm . . . visiting my brother."

"Your brother?"

"_Yes_."

"Oh."

There is an odd note at the end of his 'oh' that causes Dean to turn around.

When Dean looks at his talkative companion he sees a very different man than he'd seen walk in. He looks older around the eyes and the mouth. The gold of his eyes becomes dark, his youthful enthusiasm abruptly smothered by some unknown force.

Disturbed and feeling partly as if he'd been a little too rude, Dean sighs and asks, "What brings you to Transylvania?"

Stefan blinks, "I'm planning on proposing to the most beautiful woman." And with that, his blinding smile returns, "She is a wonderful, amazing,-"

Dean rolls his eyes, "Right, and how long have you known her?"

"About ten years," he replies. "Ten heavenly years-"

Dean nearly scoffs at the word 'heavenly', thinking it a completely ridiculous word to be used in regards to years with woman. Dean can't even recall having spent a years, let alone one year, with a single woman.

"I've just realized that I haven't asked your name yet," Stefan says suddenly.

"My name's Dean."

"Dean . . . ?"

"That's my name."

As if finally sensing his reluctance to share, Stefan nods, realizing at last that his good mood may not necessarily have long enough arms to reach everyone. Then he says, "Nice to make your acquaintance, Dean."

"Likewise."

And that's the extent of Dean's participation in their conversation for the rest of the trip. By the time the train settles into Transylvania's station, Stefan had a total of five hours of sleep, three soups made by the train's chef, and two dissertation drafts written- never mind the fact that the entirety of his waking moments were spent talking about the syllabus he'd created for the Literature class he teaches back at some Italian university. The man loves his literature. Meanwhile, Dean had acquired exactly zero hours of sleep and precisely one sip of Stefan's soup at the other man's insistence.

Dean just steps off of the train when an eager set of fingers snatches him by the shoulder. "Dean, why don't you meet my future wife!"

Wondering when and why Stefan had thought that he would ever be interested in such a thing, Dean shakes his head vigorously, "No, thank you. I'm sure she is all that you say she is, but I need to get to-"

"But, Dean," Stefan says in a tone similar to the one in which he'd used to coerce him to share the mushroom soup. It's the sort of tone that makes him wonder how young he is, really. "You _have _to." Dean groans inwardly, cursing his soft spot for people that remind him of his little brother.

"Fine, but quickly. My brother needs me-" Dean had barely gotten the words out before Stefan nearly amputates his arm in pure excitement, pulling him in one direction.

"Katherine!" He bellows. "Katherine!"

"The whole of Transylvania knows her name now," Dean grumbles, making no effort to match his lively pace.

"There! I see her," Stefan squints into the distance. He pulls him harder, dissatisfied with how slowly they're moving. Dean follows his line of sight to a woman standing in the back of the crowd, passing in and out of sight.

When a path clears, he sees her standing with her arms crossed. Her brown eyes blink in their direction and she smiles.

At her smile, Stefan slows.

"What?" Dean asks, confused by Stefan's crestfallen appearance. The girl really is quite beautiful. And Dean had met many women in his line of work, dead and alive.

Without answering, Stefan's joy fades into a half-friendly expression and they stop in front of the brown-eyed girl. Her dark hair is tied behind her head and there is a smudge of dirt on her face. He also notices that she smells as if she'd been wrestling with a wet dog. Stefan pulls her into a chaste hug. "Elena. Where is Katherine?"

Elena laughs a hearty, full sound. "I appreciate you at least trying to hide your disappointment, Stefan. It's very considerate."

"I am happy to see you, Elena," Stefan says. He turns to Dean, "Dean, this is Elena Gilbert, Katherine's cousin. They look nearly identical. And Elena, this is Dean, I met him on the train."

Dean nods.

"Hello," Elena says, looking at him apologetically. "Did he force you to come and meet me?"

"I meant to introduce him to _Katerina_," Stefan replies pointedly for Dean, who is glancing around, getting his bearings. _It looks like east is that way-_

Elena rolls her eyes, "Kat left about an hour ago. She went to reprimand the operators because of the train being late. Then she said she had to meet up with some friends. She told me to tell you to meet her at her house."

Stefan checks his pocket watch. "It's only noon-"

"I really need to get going," Dean says, "Can either of you direct me to the church?"

Stefan looks around distractedly as Elena nods, "I can take you there if you'd like."

"Just some quick directions will suffice," Dean says, not wanting to dwell with them any longer.

Elena just smiles at him knowingly before turning to point east. "Just head that way for about fifteen minutes. You'll start to see it right away, it's enormous."

"Thank you," Dean says, then he remembers something else Sam had said. He digs into his bag and pulls out a piece of parchment to consult the note he'd received from Sam days ago.

"Why are you here, Elena? Should you not be off doing things that young women, like yourself, would enjoy?" Stefan questions in an uncharacteristically surly manner. Dean glances up shortly from his letter in surprise as Stefan continues, "Brushing your hair, perhaps."

"What's more enjoyable than meeting you at the train station?" Elena asks with a lift of an eyebrow, handling the offensive comment very well in Dean's opinion.

"What about marriage? Have you gotten around to thinking about that?"

"Yes, the thought did occur to me quite briefly-just over half an hour ago in fact- but then I saw a sweet little dog crossing the street and thought it was just adorable-"

"You should take this seriously."

"I am taking it seriously. Marriage is serious, Stefan. That's why I'm not off hurrying to marry the first man I set my eyes on."

"Well, I'm not saying that-"

Dean shakes his head and returns to the note:

_Dean,_

_I know we haven't corresponded in a while, but I need you. Meet me in Transylvania. You know where I work._

_It's important._

_-Sam_

_P.S: Do not pass through the market. There are wanted posters._

Right. No details whatsoever and Dean is ready to drop his current case and run to him. The fact that the case Dean is putting on hold is a loose, undead, angel-flying-thing is of no consequence to Sam.

He bids his two new acquaintances goodbye and sets off. It takes Dean not half an hour to arrive at the church, even when avoiding the marketplace. It's as grand as he remembers. He used to sit and stare at the intricate designs covering its walls, eyes never able to see every detail for its true value.

Dean braces himself before pulling the heavy door open.

It's empty today, and the afternoon light spills through stained glass windows.

He walks down the wide aisle, his shoes thumping against the shiny floor. He stops at the cross standing at the far end of the church. Candles burn around it.

"Dean."

The familiar voice echoes.

Dean sighs, "Sam." He turns to see his brother sitting in the front row.

It's hard to say just how he's changed, but he still looks like his baby brother. What's different is the very slight age that appears around his mouth and eyes, which are exactly the same, though, hopeful and pure and never deciding if they want to be blue or green. He presses his lips together in uncertainty.

"How was your trip?" Sam asks, standing. Ah, yes. Dean had almost forgotten how tall he is.

"I got here, didn't I?"

Sam frowns, "Would you like some water? Food? We can eat in the-"

"Why am I here, Sam?" Dean says, "You asked me to come here and I'm here now. I came all this way, so just spare the small talk, would you?"

"Fine," Sam says, sighing. He smooths down the cross hanging around his neck to lay flat against his chest. "There have been people going missing. At first it was normal, you know? There were some occasional kidnappings and the police took care of it."

"Okay, and?"

"Then the kidnappings turned into murders. Very quickly." He swallows, "And they're becoming more and more frequent. They find the bodies _drained of blood_, Dean," Sam stares at him earnestly. "So I figured you would know what to do."

"You know just as well as I do," Dean jabs a finger at him. "Dad taught both of us."

"I know, but this is _your _thing, Dean. Not mine," Sam says with a level of adamance that borders on denial. "You have the weapons, the experience-"

"It's not going to be easy," Dean shakes his head. "Not with my face hanging at every corner of the city."

"Don't worry about that," Sam says. "The people here are superstitious. They fear people like you."

"Okay, fine," Dean says. "Is there any significant pattern among the victims?"

"All women, all from Transylvania," Sam replies, exhaling in relief at his compliance. "Other than that, they seem completely different in terms of their backgrounds."

"Alright, just point me to where the last incident happened."

"Let me show you your room first," Sam insists, making to lead the way down the hall. Dean puts up a hand.

"Sam, I don't want your damn _politeness_, okay? You don't need to treat me like a guest or some stranger staying with you."

"I'm just trying to-"

"I don't want you acting like you care about me either, okay? So let's save ourselves the time and effort."

Sam flinches, "I do care about you, Dean."

There is a long silence and the older Winchester lets out a breath through his nose. "No. You don't." His brother's eyes sadden, eyebrows pulling together, as Dean turns and says, "I'll find my own room."

* * *

After about an hour long nap, Dean wanders out of his room and about the church soundlessly, pack swinging behind him. Both his fond and unpleasant memories of the place emerge in his mind much easier than he would have liked. His father leaving them there while on hunts. Dean comforting Sam when monsters would scream in the night.

He opens the door to the library, recalling how heavy it was when he was a child, to find Sam standing, eyes unfocused and directed at the floor.

"Should've known you'd be in here," Dean says with a sigh. "This was always your favorite room."

Sam looks up, eyes refocusing on his brother, "It still is." A smile breaks across his face, "I'll bet I can remember which one is yours."

"Oh yeah?"

"The kitchen." Sam laughs. "Father Dom would catch you in there all the time."

"Well, not before I ate everything."

They chuckle before Dean catches himself and clears his throat, "So, uh, where was this last victim attacked?"

Sam's smile fades, "It was at the inn. About a fifteen minute walk from here."

"Yeah, I remember where it is," Dean says, moving to leave the room.

"Dean, wait," Sam follows him out of the library and into the church.

Dean snatches a couple containers off of a nearby table and heads toward the holy water.

Sam looks slightly embarrassed, "I'm headed to visit some friends later this afternoon. I told them you would be in town and they'd love to meet you-"

"I'm not going."

"Yes, you are, Dean."

"No, I'm not."

"Yes, you are."

"No."

"Dean-"

"_No._"

Sam sighs heavily. "I told them you'd come, Dean."

"Sammy, I'm here to fix a vampire problem, not socialize with your rich friends," he says, stuffing several containers of holy water into his pack.

Sam purses his lips. "Fine." And he stomps out of the church saying over his shoulder, "I'll be at the estate on the hill if you need me."

Dean shakes his head, a small smile on his mouth as the doors shut.

* * *

The rocky street crunches under his shoes as his eyes take in the faintly familiar surroundings. He remembers coming through this very same street as a child, before Sammy was born. His father would walk him through town, carrying him, while pointing out little things that Dean could not even comprehend at the time.

_"That there is where the witches make their deals. You want to avoid that place. They prey on men."_ Then John would look at his tiny son's eyes, staring at him blankly. "_Well, you don't have to worry about being a man just yet, Dean."_

When Dean arrives in front of the modest inn, which had a comfortable air to it despite recent events, he immediately spots a broken window on the second floor.

"Excuse me?" A lady approaches him, stepping through the front door. "May I help you sir? Do you need a room?"

"No, thanks," Dean says, "I'm actually here to ask some questions about the woman that was killed."

The woman's eyes widen a fraction before moving from his face to his backpack, then back to his face. "You look familiar."

"Do you mind answering some questions, ma'am?" he asks, sidestepping her suspicions.

She glances back at the inn before saying, "What do you want to know?"

* * *

Dean smacks his knuckles against the ridiculously large doors. At first he'd been irritated at Sam's vague instructions. The estate on top of the hill, he'd said. But sure enough, after taking a good look at the town from the inn, there had been no doubt of which estate he was talking about. It was grand and borderline indulgent in the way it commanded attention. Brick walls and colorful gardens are in stark contrast with the dull grays and blues of the Transylvania winter. Dean had spotted it from the inn balcony, seeing it perched on a hill at the farthest edge of town several miles away.

He hears a brief shuffling on the other side before the doors swing open. Standing in the doorway is a familiar young woman.

"Dean?" she says. The dirt is still on her face.

"You're the girl from the train station," Dean realizes. "Gilbert?"

She nods and she smiles, "You're Father Samuel's brother."

He scoffs at the title, "Yes."

"What a coincidence," she says. Dean swears that he hears a hint of sarcasm in her tone just as another set of footsteps approach them.

"For goodness sakes, Lena, let the man in!" Behind Ms. Gilbert appears a woman with a rather striking resemblance to her aside from the pouting mouth and accusatory eyes. Her most overwhelming feature, however, has naught to do with her face but with her apparel- an enormous gown that causes Dean to question the woman's ability to pass through the narrow hall.

"You must be Katherine," Dean says with a slight bow of the head. "Salvatore's told me about you."

"I'm sure he has," the woman says with the sort of attitude that most would expect from a belligerent teenager. Her eyes look at him as if searching for anything that could be of use to her. Whatever she sees Dean cannot tell because she quickly turns and moves through the foyer and down the hall. "This way," she says.

Dean follows her as Ms. Gilbert closes the door behind him. He carefully steps about the train of Katherine's dress.

There is an instance in which Ms. Gilbert brushes past him, gives him a significant look, and says quietly, "If you ever feel the urge to commit suicide, feel free to stand close to her just as she's turning around. The rear of that gown'll knock the life right out of you."

Dean snorts, but quickly restrains his laughter. Ms. Gilbert smiles, looking surprised that he'd even heard her, before stepping around a corner and through a door labeled 'kitchen'.

"Something amusing, Mr. Winchester?" Katherine asks, turning to look back at him. Sure enough the sizable gown sweeps a wide and forceful circumference.

Dean contains himself before saying, "No, ma'am."

She makes a small _hmph_ sound before continuing to lead him down the hall. Soon they arrive at a cozy looking living room.

"Dean, you made it," Sam says. Dean spots him sitting on a couch just to his left. Next to him sits a chipper looking Stefan.

"Mr. Winchester seems to have met Elena already," Katherine comments, sitting on the couch across from them.

"As have I," Stefan says, standing up. "What an accident of fate this is, Dean."

Dean grunts his half-hearted agreement, then turns to Sam. "We need to talk."

Concern lowers Sam's eyebrows. He looks at his friends to explain, "Dean is investigating the mysterious deaths."

"I knew you looked familiar!" Stefan says, grasping at a newspaper lying next to him. He rips it open, eyes scanning the words. "See, here, it says, 'Police find a trail of bodies across Europe soon to be identified as known murderers. Victims are murderers rumored to be heavily involved in the supernatural-'" Stefan glances warily at Dean before continuing to read, "'-the killer, still unnamed, has a number of identities. Most call him The Hunter. A bounty on him still stands, but the question is: Is he man or monster?'"

Stefan turns the newspaper around, revealing a sketch that accompanies the article. It's a rough likeness of him, not enough to convict him, but close enough to notice the resemblance.

"They got your eyes right," Katherine says. "Angry."

Dean doesn't know how to respond to that. He looks at Sam, who has no trace of worry on his face, seeming to trust that his friends won't sell him out. Dean contemplates whether or not he trusts Sam's judgment.

"So what is it that you've discovered, Hunter?" Katherine asks, her face relaxed.

Dean hesitates, unsure of how much to share. "The innkeeper says that there wasn't a struggle. She didn't hear any screams or signs of violence."

"So the victim might not have thought she was in danger?" Stefan says. "She might've known the killer. Maybe trusted him."

"Or she just didn't realize she was under attack," Katherine suggests. "The killer was stealthy."

"What else did the innkeeper say?" Sam asks, sitting up straight.

Dean presses a hand to his face tiredly just as he hears a door open behind him softly. "She said that the girl never had a problem with anyone, which isn't a surprise. If my guess is right, the killer should have no real reason behind choosing victims."

"But all the victims have similar appearances, isn't that right?" Stefan says.

"Right," Dean nods, "Dark hair, brown eyes. The last victim was not even eighteen-"

"April," a voice suddenly says from next to him, causing him to jump. Dean turns, finding Ms. Gilbert standing with a pot of tea in one hand and a tray of cookies in the other. "Her name was April."

Her voice is low, but Dean hears her clearly. "Right, April Young," he says with an appreciative smile. Gilbert smiles back sadly.

"Lena, do come this way with that tea please, my cup has been empty for over half an hour," Katherine's voice cuts through. "Would you like a cookie, Father?" she asks Sam as Gilbert swiftly steps across the room towards them.

"Yes, please," Sam smiles. "Thank you, Elena."

"That recipe has been in my family for ages," she pinches a cookie off of the tray as soon as her cousin is within reach. "Elena does a fantastic job at recreating it, but of course its never quite the same as it once was."

"It's delicious," Sam stuffs his face as Stefan and Katherine erupt into a passionate discussion over the quality of the pastry.

Dean raises an eyebrow at his brother before looking up and finding Ms. Gilbert standing over him. "Would you like one?"

He meets her eyes, which somehow look both friendly and teasing at the same time. The sunlight from the window shines on one side of her round face while the other is shadowed. When Dean doesn't reply, she wiggles the tray in front of his face, nearly brushing his nose, one side of her mouth turned upward.

He can't help but laugh, which seems to be exactly what the girl is trying to do because her smirk turns into a full on accomplished grin. The sound of Dean's chuckle causes Sam to nearly snap his neck turning to look at him. His eyes move from the girl to Dean and back to the girl curiously.

"Just leave Mr. Winchester alone, Elena, he doesn't want a cookie," Stefan says.

Katherine rolls her eyes, "I swear, we taught her etiquette at some point. She just refuses to use it."

Sam, whose eyes are still on them, returns to eating his cookie.

"No, I want one," Dean says, stopping Elena from walking away. She picks one from the tray and hands it to him. As he moves to take it from her, he spots a long cut running from the side of her thumb to her wrist. "What happened there?" he asks.

She blinks, "Cut myself chopping vegetables."

"Lord, I hope your blood doesn't end up in our dinner!" Katherine says before looking briefly apologetic, "Sorry, Father."

"It's all right," Sam says.

Dean frowns as the maid's face turns away from him.

"Elena, what time will dinner be ready?" Stefan asks, brushing some crumbs off of his lap.

"Six," she tosses over her shoulder before quickly disappearing back into the hallway, footsteps silent.

"That girl," Katherine laughs, then sips her tea. She looks at Sam and then Dean, giggling, "You know she used to be completely in love with Stefan. It was so cute. She would ask about him whenever I got home from his house."

Stefan looks ashamed, "You shouldn't tease about that Kat."

"Well, she's over it already, it was years go," she says defensively.

"Has she found someone else?" Sam asks.

"Oh no," Katherine shakes her head. "She's stubborn. Absolutely hates it when anyone brings up anything about marriage. She thinks it unimportant." She looks at Sam smugly, "Why Father, are you interested?"

Sam shakes his head, "No, no, I'm just curious." He sends a not-so-subtle glance in Dean's direction, which he ignores.

"Are you staying for dinner, Dean?" Stefan asks.

"I can't," Dean says, standing. "I just came to talk to Sam, but you'll have to excuse me."

Sam frowns, "Dean-"

"We'll talk later, Sammy," Dean says, then smiles. "Don't worry about it."

His smile seems to appease Sam slightly, because he just nods as Dean leaves them.

He lets himself out of the house, closing the door tightly behind him. Cold air hits him again as he takes one glance back. Out of the corner of his eye he sees someone looking at him from a third floor window.

The dark silhouette moves closer to the window and into the light. There stands the girl with dark hair and a smudge of dirt on her face. Her smile is kind as she raises on hand to wave at him.

Dean feels a flutter inside of him and waves back.

* * *

The sun is completely set when Dean arrives back at the church.

The darkness closes in around him just as his eyes catch movement at the roof of the building. A feather drifts down to the ground in front of him and Dean smiles to himself.

He runs into the church and makes his way up the stairs to the roof. Immediately, two bright, white wings greet him.

"We meet again," Dean says.

The creature turns around. It seems that he still hasn't bothered to find clothing. It's a wonder he hasn't caused more of a stir at this point, flying around completely naked.

"Where the hell have you been?" Dean asks.

"I-," the creature garbles before pausing, frustrated. He takes several moments to formulate something articulate, "Look . . . for . . . you."

"Well, here I am," Dean says. "Caught my attention, now how about we find you some clothes before-"

"Clothes?"

"Yes," Dean gestures to his own trousers, "Covers all of your private business like this, see?"

Castiel looks down at himself before deciding, "Yes, that would . . . be most . . . hygienic."

"Right," Dean wrinkles his nose. "Here, take my jacket. It's damn cold out here."

"Thank you."

Dean watches as he wraps himself snugly, then asks, "How are you able to talk?"

He blinks, "My . . . brain is getting better at . . . connecting my . . . vocabulary to my mouth. Because of the procedure . . . I can only remember how to speak . . . breathe, and sustain myself."

"That's all? No memories?"

He shakes his head. "I get only . . . flashes."

"He said your name is Castiel?"

He nods, "I do not know who I am supposed to be, though. I keep seeing . . . guns . . . and killing." Castiel's dark eyebrows shadow his blue eyes, "I . . . do not know why he created . . . me."

Dean frowns slightly and offers the only comfort he feels he should give, "I'm sorry about that."

"Will you help me?" Castiel asks, eyes lifting to meet his hopefully.

"Well, I don't-"

"Please," he says, bright eyes shining, "Please."

Dean purses his lips before saying, "Okay. Yes, I'll help you."


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three:**

**Note: I know y'all probably forgot all about me but I'M STILL HERE MWAHAHAHA!**

* * *

Castiel's wings immediately tear two holes in Dean's already tattered jacket. The creature had attempted to wrap it around himself by forcing the buttons closed with admirable determination, resulting in the current damage.

At least he's covered up, Dean thinks.

And just when Dean starts to believe that Castiel can't possibly be dangerous, he goes and knocks him over with one of his wings.

They'd been walking down the stairs into the chapel when Dean made the wrong choice to put a hand on his shoulder. Castiel jumps in surprise and spins around, inadvertently smacking him. The wing had actually been rather soft despite the strength with which it collided with Dean's face.

The creature makes a garbled sound of remorse, then scrambles to help him up.

Dean waves it off, "I'm fine. I'm fine," getting to his feet, this time being more mindful of the vast, feathery wings. "You can't walk around town with those things sticking out of your back. Probably can't fit in a shirt either."

"I can retract them . . . but it will be painful."

"Oh," Dean says. He watches as they flap softly, swishing against the sides of the narrow stairwell. They are so unlike anything he's ever seen and he has to stop himself from staring at them. "Why did he do this to you?"

Castiel's lips purse, "He . . . wanted to create a god." He lowers his eyes and pulls the coat tighter around him. The fabric protests. "Instead . . . he has me."

Dean frowns, not knowing quite what to say. He settles for, "I threw him in the madhouse."

"You didn't kill him?" Castiel asks, confusion contorting his face.

"Look, Crowley's insane," Dean replies, "And I probably should've killed him."

The creature waits, expecting an explanation.

Dean sighs, running a hand through his hair tiredly, "But I'm going to need him if his . . . experiments go bad."

"You mean if I go bad."

Dean doesn't answer and instead gestures for him to continue down the stairs. Once they reach the chapel, Castiel turns to Dean, the corners of his mouth downturned.

"Crowley made me for a reason," he says. "I . . . don't know why, but he planted . . . things in my brain."

"What things? Like information?" Dean asks.

The creature closes his eyes, face scrunched in pain, "I . . . see fire. And blood." There is a long stretch of silence as Castiel sits down, head tilted to the ground. "But I keep . . . seeing one thing more than the rest . . . A flower."

"A flower?" Dean asks, crossing his arms. "Why the hell would Crowley make you remember a flower?"

"I don't know." He puts his face in his hands, his wings flapping in slight agitation. Then he looks up, "And you. I see you in my mind. It is . . . blurry, but I do. I . . . knew your face before I even met you."

"Me and a flower?"

"Your facial expression suggests disbelief."

"I just don't understand it," Dean says, shaking his head. He pauses, staring at the creature for a minute before pointing to his wings and saying, "I hate to say it, but those have to go if you want clothes."

"I suppose I . . . knew that already." He inhales deeply and the feathers begin to quiver. His fists clench as a strangled sound emerges from his throat. Then the disgusting sound of bones moving makes Dean wish that his wings could magically fit in clothing.

Castiel let's out a relieved breath when it's over and Dean moves to stare at his back.

"That has to be a first," he says, looking at a smooth back aside from two red scars that line his shoulder blades. Dean can still see the pain on Castiel's face when he says, "Just wait here. I'll get some clothes."

When Dean gets back Castiel is staring at the largest stained window in the church, which features an enormous angel dressed in white. A single tear remains frozen on its glass cheek.

"I'm sorry about the wings." Dean offers the clothing in his hands.

"I feel unbalanced," he says, turning to Dean. And as if to prove it, he stumbles slightly on his way to take the clothes. Making a disgruntled face, he snatches the shirt and trousers from him. "But I - suppose it will be best. This way I cannot so easily harm someone."

Dean wonders how a man built to be a killer turns out so mindful of human wellbeing. He turns and waits as he gets dressed, mind split between what the hell Castiel is involved in and the still unclear vampire case on his hands.

"You're going to have to stay down here for now," he says to him, turning around.

He finds Castiel sitting on the sofa, eyes unfocused and directed somewhere on the floor. He begins to lean back.

"Cas?"

But his eyes are drifting closed, in what might possibly be the first rest he's ever gotten since he woke up on that table.

Dean sighs, watching with a small smile as the creature falls deeper and deeper into sleep.

* * *

Dean is startled awake by Sam, who is frantically opening and closing cabinets.

"Weapons, weapons, where are you?" he mutters hysterically. Dean hears distant screams coming from outside the church walls.

"Sam?" he says, scratching his groggy eyes. He had fallen asleep on the sitting room couch. He vaguely recalls leaving Castiel fast asleep down in the basement.

"Vampire attack," Sam says, yanking open a drawer then letting out a short breath of relief upon finding several guns.

"The vampire?"

"No. These ones are young. Probably turned no more than a day ago."

Dean leaps out of off the couch and joins him by the weapons, a position he thought he'd never find himself in again, "That means they're hungry."

"Unfortunately."

"Father Samuel!" A voice cries and the doors burst open. In comes Katherine, immediately followed by Stefan and her household staff.

"Katherine, are you hurt?" Sam asks.

She shakes her head just as Stefan answers, "They broke into her house. We just ran and luckily they didn't follow."

Dean frowns, "How many?"

"Three."

"Three? All at your house?" Dean says, "Why would there be three?"

Katherine nods, "It's a miracle we all made it out."

"We didn't all make it out, Katherine," Stefan says roughly. This is the first time Dean sees him look angry at her or at anyone for that matter. "Elena is still back there."

Her lips pout, "I swear, I thought she was with us-"

"You mean no one went back for her?" Dean demands loudly, causing Sam to shush him, and glance wearily out the window. A faint crash is heard.

Immediately, Stefan looks hurt, "We didn't realize she was missing until we were halfway here." Guilt forces down his eyebrows, creating creases in between them. An echo of something painful flashes in his eyes.

"Are you serious?" Dean snaps, causing Stefan to flinch. "The death toll in this godforsaken town is too fucking high for you to be-"

"Anyone who went back for her would have been dead in seconds," Katherine says as Sam purses his lips at his brother's language. Dean half expects him to begin a lecture on propriety in order to defend the honor of the lady present. You know, because ladies have delicate ears.

"If you all went you would have outnumbered them."

Stefan shakes his head, "I wouldn't bring Katherine back there. I've never seen anything like it, Dean. Two vampires and one werewolf. Working together."

"That's impossible."

"Apparently not," Sam says, tone grim.

The doors open again, but softly. This doesn't prevent the group from noticing.

"Elena!" Katherine rushes towards the girl now entering the church. "What happened?"

"I was right behind you," she says evenly, looking a little out of breath. Her eyes glance at each of them quickly before settling back on Katherine, "I just had to make sure everyone was out first."

"Thank heavens," Katherine hugs her. Stefan appears relieved and Sam smiles slightly.

Dean, however, isn't completely accepting of her explanation. His eyes study her carefully, finding nothing explicitly out of the ordinary aside from something strange in her eyes. It's a look that strikes him with a certain familiarity that he can't quite place.

Then she smiles and hugs her cousin, the striking expression gone in an instant.

Dean glances outside the painted window and sees flashes of bright flames. Shouts follow. He and Sam hastily equip the appropriate weapons just as Dean hears glass shatter. It sounds as if it's coming from the chapel.

"What do we do?" Stefan asks.

Dean sees a determination in his face that looks dangerous. "Just protect the girls. Sam and I will handle the-"

There is another bang, this time sounding closer.

He and Sam nod at each other before quickly and silently making their way there. Stefan watches them go, frowning. Once Dean is standing just outside the chapel, he crouches behind a pillar and peers into the room.

He counts three vampires. Definitely young, just as Sam said because their eyes are bright crimson and their movements are rough and jerky. Two are women and one is a man. Across the room, Dean spots Sam similarly crouching behind a bench.

Dean signals to Sam at the vampire at the far end of the chapel, and Sam nods. Then he gestures to the vampire directly across from him and points to himself. Sam nods again.

They stare at each other for several moments before simultaneously leaping from cover and charging.

Dean takes the male by surprise, easily slashing his neck. He lets out a pained hiss and drops to the ground. Dean looks up to find his brother wrestling with one of the females and feels a wave of pride as two of Sam's large hands wrap around her neck and snap it. Just like old times.

In the corner of his eye, Dean spots the last vampire madly running towards him. He turns and points his knife, not wanting to waste any ammunition on such an easy kill. She leaps onto him, pushing him to the floor. Her wild eyes are blood red and her teeth swipe at him.

Dean slashes his blade to her throat and her head comes off, landing next to him.

"Well, that was easy." Sam says, moving to help him up.

"There are still more," Dean says, standing and hearing the chaos continue outside.

The sound of a woman screaming instantly invades their ears, and they run towards it.

"That sounds like Katherine," Sam says as they head back to the sitting room.

They burst through the doors.

Dean sucks in a breath, "Oh my God."

Half of the room's lamps flicker out, but he still sees about twenty vampires.

Katherine's staff are in a frenzy, shouting and bolting to the door. There's too much commotion and too little light for Dean to see either Stefan or Katherine. Blood smears the floor.

Next to him, Sam jumps on a vampire which had latched onto one of Katherine's butlers. Dean pulls out a second knife and stabs his way into the throng of violence. He tastes the salty, metallic blood in the air.

Suddenly Stefan appears next to him, red dripping from his face, stake in hand. His eyes never land on Dean, but instead frantically search the room for who Dean can only guess is Katherine.

He turns away from Stefan and flinches as a vampire takes him by surprise by lunging at him. He feels two hands claw at him for just split second before the monster is yanked away and then it collapses. Dean looks up to find Elena standing over it, hands moving to hide behind her. That striking look fades deep behind her eyes.

Her breathing is labored as her gaze hits him and Dean's eyes stare back before wandering of their own accord to her lips, which push her breaths in and out. He forces them away from her and back to the task at hand.

He slashes at every vamp within his reach, quickly losing Elena in the blur of teeth and blood. A vampire screeches.

Dean turns and to his surprise he finds Cas, two hands grasping a vampire's face. Blinding light erupts from its eyes and mouth, illuminating the entire room. It's wailing echoes throughout the house, bouncing against walls and straight into their ears.

The vampire collapses, as well as several others in its vicinity, faces burned.

Eyes wide and mouth agape, Dean raises his gaze from the burnt bodies to Cas, who looks directly at Dean and says, "I didn't want to stay downstairs."

"Holy-"

"What the hell is that?!" Sam demands, pointing a knife at Castiel, whose hands are still alight.

Dean almost applauds Sam for breaking his own language rule as he pierces a passing vampire in the heart, "I'll explain later!"

Sam purses his lips before turning and slamming a fist right in another vampire's face.

It takes another ten minutes total to kill every single vampire in the room. And then there is silence except for fatigued breathing.

"Where did Stefan and Katherine go?" Dean asks, after looking around the ruined room. "And Elena?"

"They passed me on my way up here," Castiel says. "The man was following the woman and the other woman was following the man."

"At least I won't have to worry about explaining you to them," Dean says, eyeing a twitching corpse.

"Right, who are you?" Sam says, crossing his arms at Castiel. The sight of him in his priest pajamas covered in blood nearly makes Dean laugh out loud.

Castiel starts, "I am-"

"He's a friend of mine," Dean says.

"A friend?" Sam asks, incredulity lifting his eyebrows. "You have a friend that can burn the insides of vampires just by touching them?"

Castiel opens his mouth to speak just as Dean hurriedly says, "Well, I didn't know he could do that."

* * *

After stashing Cas (Dean's new name for him) back downstairs, Sam and Dean find their friends standing in the chapel arguing. The sounds of violence outside have died down and only cries of mourning are heard. Looking through a stained window Dean sees people already burning vampire corpses, a sight one would only see in Transylvania.

Meanwhile, Katherine is shouting at Elena, who just faces her with crossed arms.

"I have fed you, I have clothed you, I have put a roof over your head-"

"By obligation only."

"You're questioning me?" Katherine says, eyes burning. "Elena, I would never lie to you. We've been through too much together."

Stefan looks wary of the entire conversation and becomes instantly grateful at the sight of Sam and Dean.

"Are they all gone?" He asks them.

Dean nods, glancing at Katherine then Elena, "Their bodies are laying all over the place and the ones that survived all retreated. I don't know what happened, but they seemed like they were looking for something or someone. There's no way they all just decided to come to church."

"Whatever they were looking for, they must've found it," Sam says. "All across town, they left in a hurry."

"Are you okay?" Stefan asks his girlfriend, who had just shuddered and turned away from the group. He reaches a hand out to her.

Katherine noticeably steps out of his reach, sliding each heel slightly away one at a time. "Fine."

Stefan responds with two lowered brows, likely wanting to question her further but ultimately deciding against it. "Shall I walk you home?"

She sighs, "Alright." Dean detects a hint of impatience on her face before she smooths it over into a practiced, polite smile. Poor Stefan.

As soon as they leave, Sam says to Dean, "As I said. Vampire problem."

"How often do they do this?" Dean says, ignoring that rush behind his eyes he feels every time he encounters the supernatural. Something to kill.

"Once a month. Sometimes twice, just to feed. But recently it's become much more random. And this-" he gestures at the blood covering then, "This is the first time they've ever sent so many. There's something behind this, Dean, I know it."

"They came looking for someone," Elena speaks up, causing both men to jump. Dean is embarrassed to admit that he'd completely forgotten that she was even with them. Clearly Sam had forgotten too because he clears his throat awkwardly.

"Right. They all flocked here," he glances at Elena, "Did Stefan forget that you were here?" Dean almost rolls his eyes. Not letting a woman walk alone is a general rule amongst men of class, and a rule in which Dean feels is of only moderate priority. Of course, for people of Sam's position it's a big deal.

On the other hand, Dean feels a minor annoyance against Stefan. The lovesick fool might be Elena's death.

"He does that," Elena says, unfazed by their behavior. "It's fine. I don't mind walking home by myself."

"Are you serious?" Dean scoffs in a very ungentlemanly manner, much to Sam's horror, "There was a vampire attack not five minutes ago and you're going to go prancing out there in the dark by yourself? Are you stupid or just suicidal?"

"Dean-" Sam says, hurrying to cut him off when Elena puts a hand up to stop him. She has a deadpanned expression on her face.

"It's alright, Father," she then turns to Dean with a twitch of the lips and says, "I don't prance."

Dean stares at her silently for a moment, looking at her brown eyes carefully. Sam looks back and forth between them with uncertainty.

"Well, then . . . by all means," Dean says with heavy, cutting sarcasm, "Walk the Transylvanian streets alone. At night."

"You've emphasized my impending doom based on our location and the time of day. Am I to expect a warning based on my gender next?"

"You're naïve if you really believe walking alone as a woman is the same as walking alone as a man. Especially in Transylvania."

"Of course it's more dangerous for a woman here," she shrugs, "That's just how it is." Her eyes spark with a sudden curiosity, "That's twice now that you've called out Transylvania. Do you have a problem with this place, Winchester?"

"Besides the fact that it's crawling with disgusting creatures that either want to kill, eat, or torture people on a regular basis, it's actually quite lovely," Dean says with a forcibly sweet smile.

"I think so, too," she replies breezily, with just as much irony. "Now if that's all, I'll be on my way."

"Well then, I'll walk with you," Dean says with force just as Sam jams an elbow into his rib. Dean turns to him, "What?!" Sam's eyes are now blinking in an awkward sort of winking pattern as he attempts to communicate with him. Dean narrows his eyes, "What is that, code?"

Sam sighs and throws Elena an apologetic smile, "I was just trying to tell you that I need you here, Dean."

"What happened to her walking alone?" Dean asks, poking an accusing finger in Elena's direction. "Now you're suddenly fine with it?"

Sam glances nervously between them, "Well, she's gone home on her own many times before. I-I won't deny that she can handle herself."

Dean gapes at him. Never in his life did he think Sam would say those words. Annoyance quickly makes way for curiosity.

Forcing himself to bite his tongue, Dean offers Elena a sour smile, "Goodnight then . . . Miss Gilbert."

Elena bows her head, "Goodnight, Father Samuel." She stares at Dean for a moment, "Mr. Winchester." Her hand moves to lift her dress slightly away from her feet before turning towards the door.

"What the hell, Sam?" Dean snaps as soon as the church doors shut behind her.

Sam sighs heavily, his face suddenly serious, "She's hiding something."

"Yes, I gathered that. That's why I wanted to walk with her," Dean says.

Sam is already shaking his head vigorously, "We wouldn't find out anything if she knew we were right beside her."

Dean raises his eyebrows as what Sam is saying finally clicks, "Are you saying we should follow her?"

Sam shrugs, the cross around his neck jingling. A smile breaks across Dean's face.

* * *

Dean finds the continuous click of Elena's boots against the stone pathway to be incredibly frustrating.

He and Sam are about ten feet behind her by the time Dean's teeth begin to grind.

"What the hell is she wearing boots for?" Dean hisses as they hide behind a carriage, eyes still trained on the girl. She shivers in her thin coat and modest lower-class attire, which is most likely made out of some kind of cheap material. "She's a maid, right? What could she possibly need boots for?"

They watch as Elena continues her maddening pace down the empty street. The cold air numbs Dean's fingers and he lets out an aggravated huff.

"Why does it matter?" Sam says.

Dean opens his mouth to retort just as a scream sounds. They both leap out from behind the carriage, weapons ready. Elena is nowhere in sight.

"Where the hell did she go?" Dean says, eyes sweeping up and down the street. "She was there two seconds ago!"

There is a second scream. Dean is sure that it is a man.

"Where is that coming from?" Sam says, furiously checking between buildings. When the alleys appear to be empty he stops and listens carefully. All that can be heard is the soft breeze brushing leaves and branches.

After several silent moments, Dean starts to hear the faint sound of those damn boots.

"What-?"

She's running towards them. Dean spots her first, boots beating along the long, wooden porch of the local pub. Then it hits him that she'd covered in blood. Her pale blue dress is soaked, with more fabric red than blue. His eyes move to her face and sees that she is not afraid. In fact, she looks angry.

"Dean, she has a gun!" Sam says. Dean looks at his brother, who has raised his rifle to level with Elena's head. Dean feels that rush again, all his instincts screaming, danger!

Something to kill.

Then another figure appears, coming up behind her. Then another. Then another. Then another. Four men who look murderous, as if they'd very much like to kill Elena with their bare hands.

More things to kill.

Sam begins shooting, the sound of gunfire thundering through the air, taking the men by surprise. Elena ducks down but continues running. Thud-thud-Thud-thud-Thud. At one point, she tilts her gun back and fires, nailing one of her pursuers right between the eyes. He goes down as Elena jumps off of the porch.

Sam and Dean fire, hitting the remaining three repeatedly, but they never falter.

"Silver bullets!" Sam calls. "Look at their eyes, they're werewolves, switch to the silver bullets!"

He looks and their eyes shine a bright yellow. Above them the full moon illuminates the night sky. A small light goes off in Dean's brain and he inwardly kicks himself for not thinking of that before. That's because you were a little distracted, he thinks angrily.

Quickly, he switches out the Colt for his silver pistol. He and Sam take out one werewolf each, leaving one in hot pursuit of Elena. This one seems the grabby type because its long limbs reach out to her. He makes a disgusting growl before his thick arms nearly crush her to the ground. Dean runs forward with Sam close behind him. At this point Elena and the werewolf are rolling around the street. He sees Elena force her arm free and stick the point of her gun to the werewolf's head.

"Get off of her!" Sam shouts as they reach them. He cocks his rifle, "NOW!"

The wolf-man raises his head, lets out a hair-raising howl, and he bolts. Sam immediately follows, yelling at Dean, "Stay with her!" And he disappears down the dark street after the wolf.

Dean stares at Elena as she stands, her chest rising then falling with each breath. He sees splotches of blood on her face and hands as her eyes dart from Dean to the retreating werewolf, looking ready to kill if he doesn't get out of the way.

Who the hell is this girl?

She steps forward- click- moving to go around him. Dean shifts minutely, but making it clear that he doesn't intend to let her pass. He almost smiles at the angry tilt of her mouth. His eyes slide to her fingers, following the movement as they twitch around her gun, deliberating.

He sees a brief flash of frustration in her eyes before she groans and drops her gun. Dean furrows his brows in confusion but is even more taken aback when she aims a kick to his gut.

He clutches his abdomen as she tries to make a run for it. He grabs her arm and yanks her back. In her attempt to free herself their arms get tangled awkwardly and he pushes her to the ground. She swears dirtily as her back hits the stone, using words Dean had never had the fortune of pulling out of a woman. He locks himself over her, wondering if she would give up if he trapped her there.

He never finds out, however, because one of her long legs frees itself and she plants a foot on the ground, using it to propel herself upward and cause him to lose his balance. He topples off of her and she rolls away from him. She tries to stand, but he quickly snatches her ankle, tripping her.

She lets out a shout and tries to kick at him. Dean dodges it and gets to his feet. Elena does the same.

They stare at each other tensely before Dean makes the unwise decision to step towards her. Instinctively, she moves to strike him and succeeds, her palm connecting with his cheek with a loud slap. Dean can feel the werewolf blood on her skin as he grabs her hand with an iron grip, holding it in still, and she smears it into his cheek. Her fingers curl into the skin of his face as his curl into her wrist. His nails press small crescents into her skin.

"Let me go!" she says through her teeth.

"Not happening," he says, and shoves her into the side of a carriage door. Her head hits the surface with a thump and he feels her warm breath come at him in small bursts as she tilts her head upward to look at him. A sharp and frankly unwanted feeling shoots through his gut-

She throws out a fist and nails him right in the jaw. He grunts and grabs her neck roughly with both hands, causing her struggles to turn from punching him to prying his fingers off. Arms are touching arms and legs are entangled.

Her skin is surprisingly soft-

Then there is the sound of a gunshot.

They both freeze, his hands still clasped about her neck. Her eyes widen. He hears another shot coming from afar and gets off of her.

"Sam!" he shouts, releasing her.

He barely feels Elena push past him and run away as his feet frantically bring him to where Sam had disappeared. It's silent now as he hurries down the street.

"Sam!"

"I'm here," Sam says, emerging from an alleyway, hair in disarray but looking otherwise unharmed. Dean breathes again.

"What happened?"

Sam swallows. "I killed him." He feebly shows Dean the gun in his hand. Shaking. "The last time I did that was probably-"

"Five years ago." Dean says.

Sam looks at his brother for a moment before saying, "You lost Elena?"

Dean sighs, "I thought you were hurt."

"Come on, Dean," he says with a smile. "Give me some credit."

* * *

Dean can't believe she got away.

The whole walk to Katherine's house is spent in brooding silence, however grateful he is that Sam is fine.

"I don't get it, Sammy," he finally growls, breaking the silence.

"I've known her for years," Sam says. "I've known that family for years. I never thought-"

"You obviously don't know her that well."

Sam frowns, "You think she's involved in the murders?"

Dean shakes his head, "I think she knows something and she's hiding it." His mind slips into deep thought, throwing them back into a dead quiet.

Sam smacks his arm, "Dean, what's going on with you?"

"What?"

"You're acting strange. And for you that's saying something."

"Nothing's going on with me," Dean says.

Sam raises an eyebrow before a grin appears across his face. "She really got you, didn't she?"

"No."

"I think she did, Dean, look at you."

"It's a shame there's no mirror around or else I might be able to," he grumbles.

Sam lets out a joyful laugh, ignoring his quip, "You're thinking about her, aren't you? You're blushing! My brother is blushing, I can't believe it."

"I am not-"

"It's all over your face, you can't hide it from me."

"You'd better shut your mouth."

"I will never forget this."

Dean groans, knowing that his statement is true, and frowns as his brother laughs on.


End file.
